Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“Sometimes,” I mumble, not seeing Pine Cone but knowing she is most likely in the furthest corner of the room behind the larger crates where I can’t reach her.
“Do you think that’s normal? For a daughter to fear her father?”
I shrug, really not wanting to discuss this further. “I’m like my cat. I scare easily.”
“He locked you in here with a stranger. He was going to whip you again if I didn’t stop it, and he did all this for what? You did nothing wrong. Do you feel this was fair or the actions of a good man?”
I give up looking for Pine Cone and instead walk over to the empty breakfast tray that is still by the door. I take a bowl that I used to put the slices of oranges in and make my way to the bathroom. Once there, I fill up the bowl with water and then go put it by the crate I usually sit on with Pine Cone. I want her to have fresh water when she finally gets the courage to come out.
“I hope Papa Rich allows me out soon. I don’t want Pine Cone to be hungry. There’s no food for her.”
“I’m sure there’s plenty of mice down here for her to hunt. She’ll be fine,” he reassures. “But that doesn’t exactly help us.”
“He won’t let us go hungry. Whenever he gets angry, he calms quickly, “I say, hoping this situation would be like the ones of my past. “He just needs a day or two.”
“A day or two?” He shakes his head and then stares at the ceiling as he inhales and exhales loudly. “Ember, I’m finding it really difficult to stay patient with you. I know your heart isn’t evil. I know you aren’t like him, but at the same time, what you’re doing is wrong. Don’t you see that? I know you know the difference between right and wrong. I know you do, and you have to be feeling this is wrong. Me being here is wrong.”
I sit on the crate and cross my legs. I refuse to answer. I refuse to think about his words. I refuse.
“Your father speaks of sin, but he’s the sinner. He’s killed people in those acid pits, right?”
Nodding, I admit, “He has. I hate when he does. I hate it so much, but he says God makes him. God gives him permission.”
“Do you believe that? Truly believe that?”
“Why would Papa Rich lie?”
“Because he’s a bad bad man, and I think you know this, Ember.” He points to the area where Pine Cone is hiding. “Your cat knows this.” He tilts his head, pauses and then asks a question that feels like a punch to the belly. “Have you seen him kill people?”
I don’t want to answer.
“You have, haven’t you?”
“He’s protecting me,” I try to defend. “He says it’s only the people who don’t follow the no trespassing signs. They’re getting too close to me, and if they do and see me, I’m at risk. He’s doing it out of love.”
“Do you really believe that?” Christopher asks. “Do you agree with that? Do you think the people he’s killed deserve it?”
“No,” I answer truthfully. “I hate it. I hate it so much.” I feel tears burn the back of my eyes. “I’ve begged him not to. But…”
“He’s a sick and demented man, Ember. Deep down you know this.”
“He makes mistakes,” I mumble. “But all humans do. It’s the nature of man.”
Christopher extends his arms and motions around him. “Is that what this is? A mistake?”
As if Papa Rich can hear us talking about him, the door opens, and he takes one step inside. He has a box of crackers, two apples, and a container that is full of what I know is last night’s chicken. He places them by the door and then pulls out a newspaper from his back pocket.
I quickly run toward him and kneel at his feet. I need to make this right. “I’m sorry, Papa. I’m a sinner and will repent however you deem necessary. I don’t want Christopher to have to suffer for my misdeeds.”
Kissing the top of his boot, the dust of the Nevada desert coats my lips, but I continue on to kiss his other boot. I steal a glance up and see he’s not looking down at me but instead at Christopher.
He tosses the newspaper down to me and says, “Read this to your future husband.”
I scramble to my feet and do as he asks. I can see exactly what he wants me to read. It’s an article about Christopher and his so-called accident.
I clear my throat and begin.
Christopher Davenport, son of the textile heiress Louisa Davenport, has suffered an accident and is now presumed dead. While on a photoshoot in Nevada, he never returned to his Jeep and was reported missing. After conducting an investigation, it was determined he suffered a tragic and fatal accident and fell to his death while trying to capture pictures for an article he was working on about the mysterious ghost town of Hallelujah Junction.